Whatever has been said or will be said about the academic changes accomplished by President Lowell, little if any mention will ever be made of his influence in curbing those high speed cyclists who once formed the deadly hit-and-run drivers of the Harvard Yard. But the Vagabond well remembers the scene of conflict in which the constitutionality of bicycle riding was forever adjudged by him whose province it is to guide our peace and order.

It was a cold and windy afternoon as the Vagabond trudged sturdily along beside the towering stones of Widener, shielding his face from the piercing rushes of wind that came around the corner out of the northwest. From the right, in the direction of the Union, a dignified procession of silk hats and cutaways suddenly came into view, everybody in a warm after-luncheon mood. But the Vagabond had seen silk hats, and even younger ones, in the Yard many times before, and he prepared at once to resume his reflections.

Out of the shadow of Thayer, riding on the wings of the wind, a novel element broke into the sombre afternoon. Two fleet cyclists bore down the pathway, while far behind, somewhat encumbered by his ulster and muffler, panted a burly Yard cop. The hounds, it seemed, were in full cry, but the quarry was a wheel, and away. The Vagabond has been a cycler of sorts from early youth, and if he has never raced Harvard's finest about the pathways of the Yard, at least he recognizes the novelty of such a chase.

By this time the genteel body of the Corporation, leaving a fine white trail of Union cigar ashes behind it, had reached the downward path that leads to the front of Widener. Nothing unusual in that, but it did look as though there was to be a traffic congestion. Straight as two arrows sped the eagerly pressing riders, straight into the center of the dignity of Harvard's elder statesmen.

For a moment a rippling movement separated the corporation into those who jumped to the left, and those who jumped to the right, to avoid disaster. Only one man took a determined stand. With his head bent slightly forward in characteristic pose, he applied a deft hand to the collar that shot past like a flash of light. The machine went on; but the rider, out of breath and speechless at the austerity of the new circumstances was safely tethered. The corporation replaced its hats and moved on, definitely jovial now, and disappeared into University Hall. The wind struck at the Vagabond again, and he walked out of hearing of the Gaelic torrent being applied to the limp lawbreaker.